The Fire Beneath The Smoke
by Enigma TM
Summary: They say rumours always have an ember of truth hidden under the smoke they create. When disturbing whispers are heard about a certain Musketeer, what will happen when his brothers find themselves unable to help him? Or is there more to it than meets the eye? (Runner-up in the August Fete des Mousquetaires challenge themed "Where there's smoke, there's fire".)


**PLOT SUMMARY: They say rumours always have an ember of truth hidden under the smoke they create. When disturbing whispers are heard about a certain Musketeer, what will happen when his brothers find themselves unable to help him? Or is there more to it than meets the eye?**

 **A/N: English is not my first language and this fic is not beta read. All mistakes are mine.**

 **WARNINGS: Sorry I can't remember but there might be some swearing.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Musketeers.**

 **~oOo~**

"You're Musketeers?" the innkeeper asked, the slight note of disbelief evident in his voice, as his eyes drifted aimlessly over the trio.

"Yes, we are," Athos answered. The man stared at the soldiers for a long moment before coming up with another question. "You guard the King himself, right?"

"Yes, we do," came Athos' crisp reply. Despite what his practised façade of nonchalance might suggest, he was feeling quite a bit irritated. The good innkeeper in front of him, however, had only a minuscule contribution to his sour mood. Treville's orders that had their group, sans Aramis, deliver a letter to a certain Baron, claimed a sizeable portion of that reason. Apparently, it was the Baron's absurd whim that exactly three Musketeers should carry the missive. It was not the first time when they lacked one or more members of their tight-knit group while out on a mission. It was the fact that _Aramis_ was the one left behind that concerned Athos. The Musketeer had spent the past few weeks catching his friend staring at their pregnant Queen with a sad longing in his eyes. His repeated and exasperated warnings about the perceptive eyes in the Court seemed to have little effect on his brother.

" _I will never do anything to put them in danger, Athos," Aramis said. "But I also cannot pretend to myself that that they mean nothing to me."_

 _"No, they don't," Athos told his comrade. "You are nothing more than a soldier sworn to protect them. You are only performing your duty."_

 _He knew he sounded cold, but he had to make his friend see the truth, however hard it might be._

 _Aramis shook his head and then whispered sadly, "You won't understand. You are not a father."_

Although Athos believed Aramis when he said that he wouldn't do anything to bring harm to the Queen or the unborn child, the Musketeer couldn't help but be worried. One wrong step is all it would take to bring their world crashing down, after all.

Coming back to the present, Athos noticed the man stealing furtive glances around him before leaning across the counter separating him and the soldiers and whispering conspiratorially. "So, is it true then?"

The former Comte was confused. "Is what true?"

"You know, what they're saying about that Musketeer."

Athos glanced at his comrades to check if they had any clue as to what this man was talking about but found that they were as puzzled as he was.

"Forgive me, monsieur, but I have no idea of what you are saying. If you could be more specific about your queries? Which Musketeer are you referring?"

"The Spanish Musketeer, of course!" the innkeeper replied impatiently. His expression suggested that he couldn't believe these soldiers were failing to understand what should have been obvious. "The one they caught spying," he added.

"I beg your pardon?!" Athos was now shocked as well as confused. What the hell was this guy saying? A knot of dread tightened in his gut even as he asked, "What exactly do you mean?"

The innkeeper's frown deepened. "You really are Musketeers, aren't you?"

"You want some proof?" Porthos, who had been silent till now, asked in a not-friendly-at-all voice while placing his hands on his hips.

Athos turned back to the innkeeper. "What do you mean by the 'Spanish Musketeer'?"

The man was now looking positively sceptical, although he did answer Athos' question. "Heard they caught a Spanish spy in the Musketeers. Been doing this for years, it seems. Caught him red-handed."

"What did they catch him doing?" D'Artagnan asked.

The man shrugged. "Not sure about that. His face screams Spanish though. Even slipped a word or two in the language when they caught him. But looks like he can speak French too like a Frenchman. Guess that's why he could go on for so long."

"What is his name?" Athos questioned although he and his friends feared that they already knew the answer.

The innkeeper frowned and scratched his beard. "Amarius was it? No, no... Artemis. Yes that's his name."

Athos' stomach dropped to the floor, like someone had just placed a lead ball in it.

Their fears were confirmed.

"And who told you all this?" Porthos asked.

"Why it's the talk of the town. Everyone's heard of it."

"So there's been no official report?" the Gascon queried, his voice holding a hint of hope.

"Officials?" the man laughed. "Na, the King's men never bother to come 'ere, 'less it's time to collect the taxes."

"Can you please tell us where can we get some fine bread and meat in this town?" Athos inquired in a sudden change of the topic.

"Why there's Gabin's bakery near the old Protestant Church. And the butcher's just 'round the corner."

"Thank you, monsieur." Athos turned around to leave but then paused and turned back to face the innkeeper. "As the lieutenant of the Musketeers, I can assure you that you have been clearly misinformed. Every soldier serving in the regiment is devoted to the King and dedicated to the service of France."

And with that, Athos strode away, closely followed by his friends and without even sparing a glance to the innkeeper as he called from behind, "Um... what about your rooms? Messieurs?"

~TM~TM~TM~TM~

"We should ride back to Paris immediately and find what all this bullshit is about," Porthos declared as soon as they were out of the inn.

"And abandon the mission? That is not happening," Athos said.

The big Musketeer scowled as he advanced towards their leader. "And so we're abandoning Aramis?"

Athos glared back but before he could reply, d'Artagnan intervened. "For all we know Porthos, this could turn out to be some fishwives' tale. We left Paris only yesterday morning, how can such an incident happen _and_ reach this town before us?"

"Ever heard that rumour travels on wings? Or that there ain't no smoke without a fire?" Porthos asked.

D'Artagnan's face was a picture of shock. "You...are you implying that Aramis might really be a traitor?!"

The big man growled as he went for d'Artagnan, furious at the accusation. The Gascon stepped back seeing the expression of thunder on Porthos' face. Athos planted himself between his friends before the situation could surge any further. He placed his hands on Porthos' shoulder and stared at him defiantly, a silent order to stay put, even as he addressed d'Artagnan. "That was not what Porthos meant, d'Artagnan. You know it."

D'Artagnan looked sheepish as he realized what an idiotic question he had just asked. "Um...I am sorry. That was...uh, the stupid statement of the year."

Porthos' anger reduced a fraction. He let out a deep breath before speaking to Athos. "At least, let one of us ride back to Paris and check what's really happening."

Athos sighed. Sometimes, he really hated his position of leadership. "No Porthos, that will still be a violation of our orders. I am sorry, I cannot allow it. The mission takes priority over anything else."

The large Musketeer let out a frustrated growl as he turned his back to Athos and began stamping his feet to vent his anger.

"So, what's the plan now?" d'Artagnan asked. "I am guessing we're not stopping in this town anymore."

The Baron's estate was roughly a day's ride from here. With the waning light, they had decided to make a stop at this little town.

"No, we are not. The Church is not far from here. I will get both the bread and the meat. You and Porthos ready the horses in the meantime. We will push on and camp when it is darker."

That was the only practical plan Athos could think of that would not compromise with their mission while also allowing them to reach Paris in the shortest possible time. He fervently wished that d'Artagnan was right in his assumptions.

~TM~TM~TM~TM~

It turned out the innkeeper was right in saying that the rumours surrounding the 'Spanish Musketeer' was the talk of the town.

The butcher spent a good fifteen minutes ranting his ire at the Spaniards and lamenting about how the King was not being firm enough in his dealings with them.

Athos heroically managed to maintain a straight face, the least responsive listener the butcher had probably got in his life, right until the man started to express his wishes to have the 'Spanish spy' under the wheel to teach the whole vermin lot a lesson. The death glare Athos bestowed upon him, coupled with the terse request- nay, command- to hurry up with his order, had the desired effect of having the man to blessedly shut up and give him what he came for.

And then there was the baker.

"Must be a great blow to ya fellas," the man spoke sympathetically while packing the Musketeer his bread. "Suddenly findin' the man servin' with ya is not what he'd seemed."

Athos was really, _really_ glad he had not sent Porthos instead to fetch their provisions.

"I know it's hard acceptin' the truth," the baker continued, oblivious to what was going on in the Musketeer's mind. "Must've thought him yer friend, after all. My brother too was a soldier once. He an' three other fellas formed a tight group."

Athos was least interested in the story of this man's brother but it seemed like he would have to suffer it nonetheless.

"Turned out two of 'em were double agents," the man sighed. "He left the army after tha' mess. Said he wasn' sure whom he could trus' anymore. Still feels sad about those two though. They 'ave 'em in the Chatelet now. Heard tha' its worse than 'ell there. I know it's cold comfort, but at least yer friend's spared of that."

An icy chill trickled down Athos' spine as the implications of the man's words registered in his brain.

The baker, mistaking the Musketeer's shock for some kind of renewed grief, put down his loaves and touched the soldier's arm, a gentle gesture of understanding. "He may be facing the noose within this week, but trus' me, it's for the best."

~TM~TM~TM~TM~

 _He may be facing the noose._

 _The noose._

 _Aramis._

 _Facing the noose._

 _Within this week._

Athos debated on how he should break this latest news to his friends. Porthos will storm back to the capital immediately, to hell with the orders. Not that Athos would blame his friend for it. In fact, the former Comte would give anything to be relieved of this blasted assignment and allowed to go storming back to Paris himself.

Damn his sense of duty!

No, he couldn't tell any of this to his brothers. Whether this really turned out to be some outrageous rumour or not, they will be charged with dereliction of duty and court-martialed for it.

He hated himself for lying to his friends.

And hated himself even more when he couldn't help but feel that he was sacrificing one brother to save the rest.

The others were waiting for him on their horses when Athos reached them. Porthos stubbornly refused to acknowledge his presence as he looked straight ahead. Athos hoped that the man had at least made up with d'Artagnan. The lad was in the bad habit of speaking without thinking.

"So, did you find out anything else?" D'Artagnan asked Athos as he sat on his horse.

"No." The lie came out smoothly.

Or maybe not as he noticed Porthos stiffen on his saddle although the large Musketeer would still not spare a glance towards their leader.

Athos sincerely hoped he was not committing any horrible mistake that he would have to regret for the rest of his life.

~TM~TM~TM~TM~

They sat around the fire, under the night sky, and ate in silence for a while, before d'Artagnan broke it.

"I am still convinced it's all idle gossip," the Gascon's voice was full of confidence and optimism. "I mean, this is Aramis! His Spanish descent is hardly a secret. He has bled for his country longer than any of us!"

"You know what?" Porthos addressed their youngest. "This reeks too much of Richelieu. Planting some false evidence to have Aramis disgraced. Just to get back at us."

Athos froze. He didn't think it from this angle.

"The Cardinal narrowly managed to escape the noose a few weeks ago," d'Artagnan pointed out. "He's on the Queen's mercy. Surely, he wouldn't be plotting something so soon."

"You have no idea what he's capable of," Porthos replied grimly.

"Treville will definitely defend Aramis and vouch for his loyalty to the Crown," the lad was now sounding desperate.

"I am afraid that the Captain will not have much to do if the evidence planted against him is presented convincingly enough," Athos added bitterly.

"Surely, it's not that easy!"

"Yes, it is because we have seen it happen before!" Athos snapped. "We almost lost Aramis to it!"

D'Artagnan was shocked into silence at this new piece of information shared by his friend. "When? Who?" he finally managed.

"Immediately after Savoy by Richelieu himself. Apparently, he didn't want to leave any loose ends in the form of the sole person to return from the massacre," their leader answered in a tone suggesting that is all the information the Gascon will be having for now. He didn't feel like sharing the incident now, not when he was questioning himself on whether he had left his brother to a similar fate as that which happened six years ago.

"I'll take the first watch," Porthos offered. No one said anything so he took that as a 'yes' and took his position, sitting with his back to a tree and a pensive expression on his face.

D'Artagnan and Athos laid down, resting their heads on their saddles. Athos faced away from his friends. His stoic demeanor served him well to disguise his actual feelings, but sometimes he didn't trust it to be enough. Not for his brothers, anyway.

Thoughts and images whirled inside his mind, denying him any sleep. Was of all this really some cooked up tale by a bunch of bored gossipers. Are their worries really justified? After all, d'Artagnan was right, they had yet to come across anything solid other than these canards. But then again, they had spent most of the day on their horses and did hardly anything to check the veracity of these talks.

 _There ain't no smoke without a fire._

Too many brutal incidents has proven the wisdom behind those words to Athos. He had scoffed at Thomas when he raised his suspicions about his brother's new love interest and pointed towards the less than dignified things the people in their fiefdom whispered about her. The Comte had paid for his disbelief with his dear brother's life. He had refused to believe Marsac's accusations against their Captain, dismissing them as not being solid enough to prove anything. That too turned out to be a blatant mistake.

His train of thoughts were interrupted by heavy, approaching footsteps but Athos was not alarmed. He would recognise them in his sleep. The footsteps stop just behind him and Porthos' voice sounded from above. "Since you're not getting any sleep over here, don't you think we're better off on the roads again?"

Athos said nothing, he simply got up and picked up his saddle with him. It was still very early. In fact, the faint paling of the otherwise dark sky in the eastern horizon, where the sun was yet to make an appearance, was the only indication that dawn was nearing.

As Athos went to take care of his morning needs, Porthos approached a sleeping d'Artagnan and woke him up.

"Is it my turn on watch-duty now?" the lad yawned, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

"Na, it's time to hit the roads again."

~TM~TM~TM~TM~

The Musketeers reached the Baron's estate several hours before their scheduled arrival. They were kept waiting in the entrance hall by the Baron's men, while the steward went inside to announce the arrival of the King's messengers to their master.

It was no hard guess that Porthos was getting even more impatient to be done with this assignment. The man kept dancing on his heels as the Musketeers waited to be shown to the noble.

The steward finally arrived and informed the soldiers that the Baron would see them in his study. He led the Musketeers inside where his master waited for them.

The Baron was an elderly man in his seventies. He sat behind his study table, leafing through a tome. The old man looked up from his book and smiled at the soldiers.

"Ah, good afternoon, Musketeers," he greeted them as he got to his feet. "I must admit, I did not expect you to be so early."

Athos extracted the missive from under his jacket. "Let's see what His Majesty has to say," the Baron said as he took the letter from Athos.

The man broke the seal and started reading the message. He was almost at the end of it when a voice sounded from the door and all heads turned in that direction.

"There you are, Father! I have been looking for you everywhere! Did Martin not tell you?"

The young man standing at the doorway did not look pleased as he took in the scene in front of him with narrowed eyes.

The Baron, taken by surprise at the interruption and appearing a little embarrassed, replied, "Yes, yes, Martin did inform me. But you see, Baptiste came at the same time announcing the arrival of these gentlemen. They bring the King's word. It is inappropriate to keep them waiting."

The son considered the Musketeers in front of him, with an expression of someone scrutinizing the items before the purchase. His eyes narrowed even more in disdain. "So I am to be kept waiting instead? In favour of some...some lowly soldiers?"

The young man sounded more like a petulant child than anything. His father, on the other hand, appeared scandalized.

"Edouard! You forget your manners! Do you realize whom you are talking about? They are not just any soldiers. These are the King's Musketeers!"

"Oh, I am indeed aware," Edouard sneered. "Isn't one of your friends charged with treason and pending execution tomorrow?"

 _Tomorrow?!_

Athos froze.

So did d'Artagnan.

So did Porthos.

The stillness generated inside the room prevailed only for a moment. Executing a stiff bow to the noble, Porthos left without another word. He didn't even wait for his comrades to follow him. Looking a little lost, d'Artagnan stared after his departed friend and then at his mentor.

"Are you required to form any reply?" Athos addressed the Baron. "Anything you might wish to pass to His Majesty?"

"No, I do not."

"By your leave then, my Lord," Athos bowed and made to leave, but was stopped by the Baron.

"Must you leave so soon, Messieurs? You did journey a long way from Paris. I was thinking of asking you to join us for lunch."

On any other day, Athos would have been more than happy to accept the generous offer. Most members of the nobility saw them as being nothing different from the servants. Perhaps the Baron was simply eager to make a good impression on the King. Or maybe he really was a good man with a kind heart.

Right now, Athos simply wanted to leave the estate and be on his way to the capital.

"I am grateful for Your Lordship's kindness. Please accept my heart felt apologies for being unable to accept the gracious offer. We have a pressing matter that requires our urgent attention."

He and d'Artagnan were stopped again as the Baron exclaimed "Wait!" and came torwards to them.

"I am extremely sorry for the rude behavior of my son." There was genuine apology in the old man's eyes. "Please forgive his insolence. As his father, I am truly embarrassed."

"Your Lordship has nothing to apologize for," the swordsman replied.

"Athos!" d'Artagnan called out from behind as soon as they were out of the study.

Athos' mind was reeling with too much to really pay attention to his surroundings. His legs seemed to find the way out on their own.

A solid punch greeted Athos as soon as he stepped outside the building. The blow was enough to send him reeling to the ground. He was barely starting to feel the coppery taste inside his mouth when he was grabbed by his lapels and roughly pulled forward to meet the blazing eyes of a very angry Porthos.

"You bastard!" the big man growled as he violently shook the swordsman. "I knew it! I knew that you were hiding something!"

"Porthos!" d'Artagnan appeared on the scene, trying to disengage his friends which proved rather useless as Porthos was too lost in his fury to pay the Gascon any mind.

"Does Aramis mean so little to you?"

"And what would you've done if I had told you?" Athos snapped. "Ridden off to Paris to rescue Aramis only to be charged with dereliction of duty? Tell me how that would have helped him in any way?"

Porthos paused and then abruptly let go of Athos, causing the Musketeer to make another unceremonious fall to the ground. For a moment, the big man stared at him with a look of unadulterated disgust and then simply turned on his heels.

"Are you alright?" d'Artagnan queried as he tried to help his mentor to his feet.

"Go, hurry up!" Athos ordered. "Don't bother about me. If there is any truth to these rumours then we have precious little time to waste."

"Athos?"

The fear and uncertainty in his protege's voice was enough to convey the question that d'Artagnan dare not ask.

"I don't know, d'Artagnan," his reply was barely more than a whisper. "I don't know."

~TM~TM~TM~TM~

It was well past midnight when the Musketeers reached Paris, taking a little over forty eight hours to cover the three-day journey.

When they entered the Garrison, they were quite surprised to find around a dozen of their comrades in the courtyard.

None of them were Aramis though.

"Just what is happening?" D'Artagnan wondered aloud.

The trio's attention was drawn to two of their fellow soldiers in particular, Gaspard and Henri. One of Gaspard's arm was done in a sling while Henri had his head bandaged.

"What's happening? And for Heaven's sake, where is Aramis?" Athos asked Henri even as he realized that he should have inquired after the man's health first.

"Erm..." Henri fumbled as he appeared to be groping for the appropriate words. "I think the Captain will be better able to answer your questions," he finally managed.

"And what happened to you?" Porthos asked.

"Long story," Henri shrugged. "And that too shall hopefully be explained by the Captain."

Before anyone could speak again, footsteps sounded from behind and all heads turned to see the Captain approaching the group.

"Captain!"

"Where's Aramis?"

"Please tell us he's here!"

"He's alright, isn't he?"

"Gentlemen," Treville was a little short of shouting as he attempted to speak through the bombardment of questions. "Gentlemen, please have some patience. I will answer all your questions."

"But Aramis?" D'Artagnan still prompted.

"Follow me," Treville commanded and the three did as they were told. The trio soon found themselves in front of the door to the Garrison's infirmary. Treville opened it for his men, allowing them a look inside.

There in the infirmary, tucked under blankets, was Aramis' sleeping form. The crushing relief all three of his brothers felt simply at his sight was immediately replaced with concern as they noticed the bruising of one side of his face and the bandage around his shoulder.

Injured but alive.

And apparently not facing the noose.

"What happened to him? Why is he here?" D'Artagnan voiced the question on everyone's mind.

"Get inside first and find yourselves a place to sit," Treville instructed. The Musketeers did as they were told while their Captain closed the door behind him. The man then gently pulled up a chair for himself and sat facing his men.

"Begin," Athos prodded softly, mindful of his sleeping brother beside him.

"It's a long story, gentlemen. Our agents informed us of a rumour-"

"Oh, I hate these rumours!" Porthos exclaimed, a bit louder than he had perhaps intended for the man's cheeks reddened almost immediately after. Treville raised an unamused eyebrow even as a sheepish "sorry" was muttered.

Athos developed a sudden cough. "Please go on."

"Yes, so as I was saying," their Captain continued. "We caught wind of a certain conspiracy regarding the Queen."

"The Queen?" D'Artagnan asked.

"Yes," Treville's voice lowered by a notch. "According to our agents, there was a plot to kill the Queen."

Athos had a faint suspicion regarding where all these were leading to.

"Who were these conspirators?" D'Artagnan asked.

"And that was the question all of us privy to this intelligence were asking," the Captain sighed. "We did not have any solid lead to go by. Just word of mouth from a reliable source. The Cardinal though had reasons to believe that there was some substance behind these whispers."

"The Cardinal?" Porthos nearly growled at the name.

"Yes, it was his agents who gave the warning. The King panicked and we deliberated on the ways to counter the threat. Barely anyone could be trusted at that point."

Athos could well imagine that. The birth of the Dauphin will inevitably strike a deadly blow to the lofty ambitions of many a person. The ever scheming Marie de Medici, the King's disgruntled brother, France's hostile neighbors. Men and women, both inside and outside the French court. The list went on and on.

"The Queen expressed her confidence in the Musketeers, which wasn't surprising. What I did not expect was the Cardinal seconding her thoughts."

That was definitely not Richelieu. But then, Athos supposed the Cardinal might well be seen donning Protestant robes if it served his interests.

"In fact," the Captain continued. "He even came up with a plan which involved the Musketeers playing a key role. Well, one Musketeer in particular."

"Aramis," d'Artagnan supplied.

"Yes," Treville nodded.

"Lemme guess," Porthos said. "So the plan was to frame Aramis with false charges and get his name blackened, so that these plotters think they have a disgraced soldier from the King's personal regiment who could prove very useful to them."

"And to ensure that they do, Richelieu had his spies, spread all over France, circulate the rumours of a certain Musketeer turning out to be a Spanish spy and taking special care to mention that he's being held at the Chatelet until his execution," Treville added.

"Yeah, that part worked pretty well," Porthos grumbled.

"And Aramis?" D'Artagnan asked. "Aramis agreed to all these?"

"Yes, he did. He knew the stakes involved."

That fact in itself did not surprise Athos. Of course Aramis won't be sitting around while the Queen and his unborn child faced a potential threat.

But something else was nagging at the back of his mind and it was shaping itself into a resentful sentiment.

"And us?" Porthos hissed. "What about us? You decided to send Aramis on such a dangerous mission and didn't even bother to let us know?"

"Yes, about that," the Captain sighed as he lightly rubbed a temple. "The Cardinal felt that the three of you, if acquainted with the details of the mission and Aramis' role in it, might have proved a liability."

"What?!" three exclamations of disbelief sounded through the room before all four heads turned towards the the bed to check if its occupant had been disturbed. Satisfied that he was not, three pairs of accusing eyes turned back to their commanding officer demanding a better explanation.

"Us? A liability?" Porthos' voice was dangerously low.

Treville released another sigh. "The task was a dangerous one-"

"Of course it was," Porthos scoffed. "Which is why we should have been told!"

"We would have been his backup," Athos agreed.

"And that's exactly what I told the King," the Captain insisted. "The Cardinal though felt that secrecy was paramount in this case. Since your comradeship is quite well known, he feared that it might only prove a hindrance and thought it would be better if the three of you were out of the picture entirely."

An incredulous silence followed the Captain's words.

Athos clenched his fists as anger coursed silently through his veins.

"This is ridiculous!" Porthos fumed. "You know it's not true."

"Of course I do!" Treville replied. "But what I knew did not matter."

"You should have still told us!" Porthos told.

"The King listened to the Cardinal. I am sorry boys but I was under direct orders." Athos thought he saw a flash of guilt in Treville's eyes but it passed too quickly for him to be sure.

"So Aramis was accused of false charges of treason and kept at the Chatelet," their youngest repeated. "Then what? You waited for these mysterious plotters to show up and facilitate a prison break?"

"Well yes and that's exactly what happened."

"And what if that had _not_ happened?" Athos asked, his tone low and deliberate. "Would Aramis have been left to rot in prison, condemned as a traitor?"

The silence that followed together with Treville's guilt-ridden face and lowered gaze gave them the answer.

"Wait, you ain't serious?!" Porthos almost jumped from his seat.

"As I told, Aramis knew the stakes."

"Well that's a comfort," came the retort, dripping with sarcasm from the large Musketeer.

"Surely you had a backup plan for such a situation?" D'Artagnan asked.

"We... _I_ was not allowed the time to come up with a backup plan," Treville confessed.

Porthos let out an angry sigh. "So lemme get this straight. You sent Aramis on this reckless mission, with a half-baked plan and no backup, all on the Cardinal's word of whispers of a conspiracy. Did it never occur to you that all of this could simply be a ploy set to trap us? How could you've allowed it?"

"Porthos," Athos' voice was half warning, half placating.

"I didn't have much of a choice," Treville defended. "What would you have done? Taken your chances and gambled with the Queen's life?"

"Besides," d'Artagnan added. "The threat did turn out to be genuine. And Aramis is safe now. It's over and that's what is important."

Porthos still appeared disturbed as he looked down and bit his lower lip. The Gascon was quick to place a hand on his leg in a silent gesture of support. The large Musketeer turned his gaze towards Aramis who hadn't moved at all since their arrival. The troubled expression on his face lingered, as did his eyes on his brother.

Athos reached out and took Porthos' hand in his. He was incredibly relieved when his comfort was accepted and his brother tightened his fingers on his.

"So," Treville cleared his throat and continued with the story. "I had two of the Musketeers, Henri and Gaspard, deployed as additions in the guard detail of Aramis' cell. Of course they didn't know what was really going on. When I reached the site after the jailbreak, I found them injured. Henri was unconscious but Gaspard told me that around half a dozen men emerged, armed with explosives, seemingly out of nowhere and disappeared with Aramis in equal mystery."

"Secret tunnels," Athos concluded.

"That's what I am convinced of as well," their Captain nodded. "Though we are yet to discover any."

"So Aramis was completely on his own," d'Artagnan stated.

"Yes," their commanding officer replied. He then went on to tell them how he was unable to contact Aramis for a whole day until a young boy came to the Garrison, asking for a Captain Treville. The boy showed him a blue sash- Aramis' sash- and told him that a man at the Court of Miracles had given it to him and asked it to be taken to Captain Treville of the Musketeers. It made sense, this clandestine group hiding in the Court. Few people asked questions there and one could easily get lost among the masses of slum dwellers.

The boy took them where he had met Aramis and pointed out a ramshackle structure, barely qualifying as a building, on the outskirts of the Court.

"It was empty," Treville said. "The lad swore it was the same place so we asked around a bit. We learnt that around ten men came to that abandoned building a few weeks ago. Most of them kept to themselves but the few who came out spoke French with a strong foreign accent. They all left a little before our arrival. No one knew where.

Then one of the men discovered something. A scribbling on the wall reading 'Vault tunnels' and a fleur-de-lis carved under it."

"The secret passages leading to the Royal vault!" D'Artagnan exclaimed. They had discovered those tunnels during that Vadim episode.

"Exactly. Apparently, Aramis was leading them inside the Palace through those tunnels."

A clever move if he was being pressured to aid the plotters in their mission. The vault was quite a way from the Royal Chambers making it difficult to reach there without being seen.

"We rushed to the Louvre and successfully intercepted the intruders inside the catacombs. Three had to be put down. Four were taken alive."

Athos frowned. "That accounts for seven out of the ten. And what about Aramis?"

"They weren't with them. Our captives were...persuaded to speak. Apparently, they were well acquainted with the layout of the palace and knew that they will never make it to the Royal Chambers undetected. So they split. The gang we confronted carried loads of explosives with them. Their job was to cause chaos and distraction while their associates covered the grounds and reached under the windows to the Queen's rooms."

Under the cover of night, access to the palace grounds became surprisingly easy if one knew his way around.

"Aramis accompanied that group," the Musketeer Captain went on. "Even as I ordered a thorough search of the grounds, gunshots resonated."

Treville took a pause as he allowed himself a moment to glance at Aramis who was still fast asleep. "He led them around, still pretending to help until he saw his chance and fell upon them. We found him among the hedges, bleeding but still conscious and surrounded by three fresh corpses. He passed out before we reached the Garrison. The physician saw to him and left barely an hour before you arrived. All in all, he sustained a bullet wound to the shoulder, a slash to his side and bruised ribs."

Athos nodded as he tried not to cast another worried glance on his brother. "And the plotters? Who were they?" he asked instead.

"Mercenaries on the pay of *Henry Concini," Treville replied.

"Concini?" Porthos wondered. "The last I heard, he fled to Florence."

"And he's still in Florence, pulling his strings from there," their Captain said. "And before you ask, no, it seems Marie de Medici was not involved, at least in this case. He acted alone."

"But what does he have to gain from murdering Her Majesty?" D'Artagnan asked.

Porthos snorted. "Revenge, of course! Don't you know what happened to his parents?"

"Of course I do," the Gascon said, sounding defensive.

"I gather they are pending execution now," Athos addressed his Captain.

"At dawn," Treville confirmed.

"Good," Porthos declared. "That's the least they deserve for what they did to 'Mis."

Treville's expression changed suddenly like he had just remembered something. Athos' eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"What are you not telling us?" he asked pointedly.

All eyes turned towards the Captain as he cleared his throat and looked a tad uncomfortable. "Well, not all of Aramis' injuries are from the mercenaries. Not the bruising, at least."

This time it was Porthos who narrowed his eyes and asked, "Then who did it?"

"The Red Guards at the Chatelet," Treville answered and then quickly added, "Aramis' arrest needed to look convincing."

An angry growl was let slip by the big man. Thankfully, a soft moan sounded from the bed as Aramis finally began to show signs of waking up and everybody's attention was drawn to him. As his brothers started to hover near him, Treville took it as his cue to leave them alone. As he reached the door however, a thought crossed his mind and he turned back to his men.

"And Porthos?"

"Yes," the man in question answered.

"I do not- I repeat do not- want to hear complains of Musketeers engaged in street fights with the Red Guards. Get that inside your head!"

The Musketeer did not reply but his face told Athos that his brother's mind was already pondering over the cruelest possible methods to get his revenge. Treville left without another word.

Aramis' eyes fluttered before taking their own sweet time to open properly. For a moment he looked confused as if he couldn't quite figure out where he was. But when his gaze fell on his brothers, anxiously watching him, he relaxed and even managed a weak smile.

"Well, looks like you arrived early. Very early I should say," his voice came out as scratchy due to the dryness of his throat.

D'Artagnan immediately poured water in a glass and helped Aramis to sit up. The marksman put up a brave face even though he couldn't keep the groans from escaping his lips. He took the glass and drank slowly, his medical knowledge warning him not to take too much at once. Only when he had laid back down did Athos reply, "They were saying such wonderful things about you out there. We were getting rather impatient to see you again."

Aramis' face lost its humour. Sighing, he said, "I know you have questions. All I will say is that my duty called and I answered."

No, it was not duty. Not _just_ duty. It was also the father's instinct to protect his child that compelled their brother to play this dangerous game. Athos understood. He only wished that the others, especially Porthos, might have known and understood it too.

Porthos shook his head. More than being angry, he just seemed...weary. "Really 'Mis, how come the most dangerous assignments always come to you?"

"It's not like I go about looking for them or have a taste for such things," Aramis shrugged.

Porthos shook his head again. "Go back to sleep. You need it."

"Wait, so you're not lecturing me about what a reckless and suicidal idiot I am?" Aramis appeared genuinely surprised.

Porthos' lips curled up in a smile. "God knows I want to shout that to your face right now. But then I also know that given the choices, you will do it again. Besides, some wise man told me you're safe now and that is what's important."

D'Artagnan's cheeks flushed red. Aramis noticed and smiled. "Seriously, the pup told you that?"

"Aramis," their youngest whined and Athos couldn't help but smile as the banter continued among his brothers.

They were home now. Aramis was home.

 **~oOo~**

 **A/N: *Henry Concini was the son of Concino Concini, the immediate predecessor of Cardinal Richelieu and a favorite of Marie de Medici. In 1617, incited by Charles de Luynes, Louis XIII had Concini apprehended and killed. His wife, Leonora Dori, who was accused of witchcraft, was be** **headed and her body burnt at the stake. Henry fled France and died in Florence in 1631.**

 **Kindly pretend that I know the first thing about the layout and planning of the Louvre and the Bastille, let alone the conveniently engineered tunnels.**

 **For those who are wondering, yes Athos and Porthos have a conversation waiting for them. I didn't include it here 'cause well, the deadline was approaching fast.**


End file.
